Seeing Is Believing
by tlogirl
Summary: Written as an 'episode' of SPN; a stand-alone that plays into the original story-arc. Featuring both Sam and Dean, with some additional character appearances; also a lot of personal detail and emotional history between the boys...can the Winchester brothers manage to stay together and keep fighting the good fight-despite anything that's thrown at them?
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** I wrote this a couple of years ago and have had it sitting around ever since. Finally getting the nerve to let others have a look and (hopefully) review._

_Special thanks to fanfic-pro and fellow writer stephaniew for alllll her help in getting me to 'publication' on this site!_

_This story contains language and sexual situations...you have been warned. I hope you enjoy! ;)_

* * *

The alley was very dark—the ghostly, luminescent light of the full moon was shaded by the massive brick walls on both sides of the narrow passageway. Pale silver light could be seen at either end of the corridor, but the darkness between the buildings was complete.

A soft snuffling sound broke the stillness, barely audible over the distant, dim sound of faraway traffic. After a long moment, the sound repeated itself; a sound like that of a large dog carefully scenting the air. Another long silence followed, until at last something moved in the darkness; something a blacker shade of black than the night air around it…something that moved with a slow, deliberate pace.

At the head of the alleyway a tall figure appeared, a silhouette backlit by moonlight. "Hey there, Fluffy," the shape remarked in a rumblingly mellifluous baritone voice which was bizarrely at odds with the circumstances.

The deeper shade of black in the darkness froze, then issued a low, vicious growl.

The broad-shouldered shape shrugged, unimpressed. "C'mon, Fluffy, old boy—don't be rude. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to meet you?"

The growl grew into the rippling, frightening snarl of a very large animal.

The man-shape spread its leg into a steadying stance. "Yeah, pretty much ever since Seattle I've been lookin' for you. Those two teenagers in the park and that poor little old lady at the Mercado…what a mess, dude." The shape took a long step forward-to the very edge of the alley's dark mouth-and the pleasant tone of its voice hardened. "I'm so glad we're finally face to face." With a challenging tilt of its head that caught the glimmering light, the shape revealed the shadows of wide-set eyes and high cheekbones. "Now bring it on, Fluff."

An explosive roaring sound echoed deafeningly off the brick walls even as the man-shape flung itself backwards and sideways. But the monstrous creature that launched itself out of the darkness was met by another explosive sound-that of a large caliber gunshot. With an ear-splitting yowl of pain, the creature's spring crumpled in mid-air and it crashed noisily to the dirty pavement.

"Shoot it again, Sam!" bellowed the downed man's voice as a second figure emerged from the shadows at the side of the alley.

Taller than the first man and slighter of build, the figure stared thoughtfully down at the enormous pile of twitching fur and feebly snapping teeth at its feet. "You alright, Dean?" he called to the fallen man.

"Do it, Sammy."

As the first man struggled to his feet, the second man raised the gun again, the complicated etch work on its silver barrel flashing in the moonlight as he aimed carefully. The booming report sounded even louder than before without the sound of the creature's rush to accompany it.

Both men watched expressionlessly as, with faint snaps and cracks, the creature's musculature slowly changed, its fur disappearing and its size diminishing until a naked human man lay bleeding before them with two gaping gunshot wounds in his chest.

"Fucking werewolves," complained Dean softly.

* * *

Dean Winchester sat hunched over his coffee cup, one hand idly rubbing at the bare spot on his finger, his mobile, expressive face wearing an unmistakably petulant cast. "I still can't figure out how we lost the silver," he said peevishly, sparing the man sitting across from him in the brightly lit diner an acid glare.

Sam Winchester rolled his eyes at his brother. "How should I know, Dean. Most likely it got lifted by room service at that dive hotel you picked out in Sacramento." The younger man arched a brow at the older one, his angular, handsome features fighting a grin. "I told you we should tip better."

Frowning at his younger brother, Dean sighed dramatically, still rubbing at his finger. "Well, it sucks. I loved that ring."

Sam shrugged, twirling a spoon absently between long fingers. "You want to kill werewolves, you got to have silver."

Dean's full, sensual mouth twisted wryly. "I know that, Sammy," he growled. "I learned that before you could walk. Only I would have preferred to kill the bastard with the silver I had in my bag for just that occasion, and not the melted down remains of my favorite ring, okay?"

Sam Winchester shrugged again, carefully avoiding the seething glare of his brother's eyes until the older man gave up and slouched back into the booth. The pair sat in silence for some minutes as Dean slowly worked his way through a massive plate of sausage and eggs with uncharacteristic deliberateness. When the older man finally finished his late night breakfast, Sam risked a glance at him. "I want to go back to the Crossroads."

"No, Goddammit," snapped the other man flatly. "No."

Sam's own temper flared. "Dean, we have to talk to her. It's the only way."

The older man met his brother's worried, determined gaze and sighed, his anger abruptly draining away. "Sammy," he said softly. "It won't do any good."

The waitress appeared at their table, smiling at both of them and debating internally which of the pair struck her fancy more; the tall, solemn one with the intelligent hazel eyes or the smaller more powerfully built one with the wide moss-green gaze and full mouth. "You boys need anything else?"

"No, thank you." Sam's dimples flickered as he smiled briefly. "Just the check, please."

The waitress, a woman easily old enough to be Sam Winchester's mother, simpered. She felt herself simpering and was helpless to stop it. "'Course, honey." She said, tearing off the slip of paper and deciding that the tall one would be her choice. "Y'all come back any time."

When the woman had departed, Dean cut his eyes at his little brother. "Man, did you see that?" He suddenly grinned his customary rogue's grin. "She was all over you, brother. You are a cougar magnet, you know that?"

"Shut up, Dean."

"Alrighty, then," replied Dean easily, his good humor restored. "Let's split. You buy."

Watching as Dean slipped from of the booth and sauntered out the glass and chrome front door, Sam dug his wallet from his jeans pocket and wondered briefly if saving his brother from the Crossroad Demon's bargain was really worth the trouble.

The fully restored '67 Impala roared along a back road in Oregon, the flawless black of its paint job sparking silver reflections of light from the waning moon as it raced along. Sam Winchester sat in the passenger seat, a map of Mississippi open in his lap. A small flashlight in one hand, he studied the map with grim determination despite the blaring sound of an old AC/DC song blasting out of the Impala's stereo system.

When an old Credence Clearwater Revival song came on some minutes later, Dean glanced over at his brother with a grin. "Hey, Sammy! Listen! 'Bad Moon Rising'."

Sam shook his head with a scowl and Dean rolled his eyes. "Ah, c'mon, Sammy. 'Bad Moon Rising'? That whole werewolf thing the other night." He grinned and nodded sagely. "Ironic, huh?"

"Dean," Sam half-shouted. "Will you turn that down?"

The older Winchester glanced pointedly at the map in Sam's lap, then leaned forward and turned the radio dial savagely to the right. The decibel level in the car increased staggeringly. Sam winced, then abruptly reached out and turned the dial the other way. "Knock it off, Dean!" he snarled.

"Don't touch my car!" boomed Dean, turning the sound up yet again.

"This is not going to go away!" Sam roared in return, waving the map at his brother with one hand and lowering the volume with the other.

"Dammit, don't touch my car!" Dean reached for the stereo controls again.

"Watch it!" Sam bawled as the Impala's headlights picked up a figure standing in the middle of the road.

Dean tromped on the brakes, and the old car squealed in protest as the tires locked up. Smoke spewed from burning rubber and only Dean's considerable driving skill saved the sliding car from a nose-first dive into the roadside ditch. The Impala ended up nearly sideways in the road, its engine rumbling choppily as both men stared at the woman who stood stock-still less than a foot off the car's front bumper.

"Jesus," breathed Sam, slowly releasing his death grip on the dashboard.

Both men recognized Ruby, the demon in the guise of a beautiful woman who had been hanging around off and on for the past six months.

"Son of a bitch," hissed Dean, anger quickly replacing his surprise. "Son of a bitch!" He rocked back in his seat and jerked his door open, climbing out of the Impala and stalking toward the woman with murder in his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch?"

Ruby smiled thinly at him, unperturbed by his threatening approach. "Hello, Dean." Ignoring him, she turned her attention to Sam, watching attentively as he exited the car and moved toward her. "Sam. It's good to see you."

Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder, feeling the snapping tension in the other man's muscles even through the heavy brown leather of his jacket. "Dean. Easy."

"Easy?" Dean repeated incredulously. "I'll kill her, Sam, I swear to God."

"Zip it, Dean," snapped Ruby before Sam could reply. "You couldn't kill me even if you tried; you lost the Colt, remember?" The .45 Colt, made over a hundred and fifty years ago by real Samuel Colt, and the only firearm in the world capable of dealing death to a demon. The gun that had been entrusted to the boys by their father and lost by them to a woman named Bela.

"Well, hell, it's worth a try." Dean's lip curled, and his eyes—dark in the moonlight—went unfocused with rage as he surged toward Ruby.

"No, Dean!" Sam wrestled briefly with his brother. "Stop it, Dean, God damn it—stop! She's fucking with you on purpose, you idiot. Stop!"

Breathing hard, Dean reeled away and marched stiff-legged back to the Impala. Ruby watched him go with an arrogant smile, her eyes flashing briefly to black—an endless, pitiless obsidian—their true demon color. "Such an easy mark, your brother," she cooed to Sam. "His buttons are practically flashing red to be pushed."

"What do you want, Ruby?" Sam asked warily, placing himself between the demon and his brother. "This is a little dramatic, even for you."

Ruby eyed him appreciatively and continued as though he had not spoken. "You, however, Sam, are so much harder to read." She trailed a finger down the angular line of his jaw. "A girl could really enjoy trying to figure you out."

"You're no girl, Ruby," Sam shot back flatly, pushing her hand aside. "Now what do you want?"

The demon pouted prettily. "You're no fun, Sam."

"Ruby."

"Oh, alright," she sighed. "I've heard rumors from the East. There's talk of separating you two."

"That's nothing new; they've been trying to kill us for years."

"No, Sam," the demon frowned. "Not kill. You're too damn hard to kill, especially together. It's why they plan to separate Dean from you. That's the rumor, anyway."

Sam glanced back at his brother, who was pacing angrily around the Impala, his face set and furious. "Well, that's been tried before, too. But thanks for the tip."

"Sam," Ruby's delicate features were somber. "Take this seriously, okay? I need you alive…we all do."

Ignoring her odd implication, the younger Winchester frowned thoughtfully. "You're worried."

She nodded. "There are big players involved, Sam. It's all I can say."

Running a restless hand through his shaggy chestnut hair, Sam sighed. "It would be so much easier to believe the things you tell me if I knew what angle you were really playing, Ruby."

The demon-woman shrugged with a soft smile. "I've told you I'm on my own, here."

He shook his head. "You're a liar."

Ruby's eyes flashed black once more. "It's my nature."

Sam Winchester turned on his heel. "Fine. Goodbye, Ruby."

"Sam," she called after his retreating back. "Keep that pretty brother of yours close by—heed me or suffer the consequences."

He paused and glanced back at her oblique threat, but the demon was gone as suddenly as she had appeared.

Dean had ceased his pacing to stand in a shooter's ready stance, his silver .45 with its custom etch-work—sigils and symbols of protection and power-pointed at the ground and clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "Why do you listen to that bitch from Hell?" he grated furiously. "She lies and lies and lies."

"She's gone, Dean." Sam said soothingly. "And sometimes she has interesting information. She said-"

The elder Winchester hissed. "I don't want to hear it. Dad would kick your ass for talking to one of them, Sam."

The younger brother nodded seriously, thinking of the father who had trained them to hunt down and kill the things that went bump in the night. "You're probably right," he replied quietly. "But we need all the help we can get, Dean. And Dad's gone."

Dean's upper lip drew back in a startlingly feral expression. "Fuck her help, Sammy. She's a demon." He shook himself, trying noticeably to regain his composure. "And don't you think I know Dad's gone? He traded his soul for my life, how could I ever forget it?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, and now you've gone and traded your soul for my life, too, Dean, so how do you think I feel?"

Dean met his brother's eyes, then straightened, his face going cool and inscrutable. "Let's get out of here."

"Dean."

Ignoring him, the older man holstered his sidearm inside his jacket then ambled to the Impala and slipped behind the wheel. He slammed the door and gunned the big car's engine for emphasis. "Let's go, Sammy."

"To Mississippi?"

Dean Winchester's jaw clenched visibly and he drew a long breath through his nose. "To Nevada."

"Nevada?"

Dean spoke through grated teeth. "I got a line on Bela and the Colt from another Hunter last night. Nevada. Get in the car."

Sam slammed the car door as loudly as his brother had, then folded his map as he stared at his brother's profile. "This isn't over, Dean. And I'm not giving it up, either."

Sparing the younger man a fleeting glance, Dean dropped the car into gear. "Whatever, Sam. But right now, I want that gun."


	2. Chapter 2

On the second day after the Winchester's meeting with Ruby, halfway through the state of Nevada, Dean's cell phone rang. The shrill burring of the phone was audible even over the thrumming sound of an old Styx song blaring through the Impala's speaker system. Dean turned the music off and Sam's head fell back, his eyes closing gratefully; his brother's taste in music was questionable, at best, in his opinion.

Dean checked the number on the phone's display, then flicked it open. "Hey, Clarence, what's the news?" Listening intently for a long moment, his features suddenly grew grim. "Define 'disappeared'," he rasped dangerously.

Sam sat up to watch his brother warily, his hands twitching to grab the wheel as the older man's concentration focused fiercely on the tiny silver phone clutched in his fist and the old car wandered across the yellow line.

"Don't tell me this," snapped Dean savagely. "I'm within two hours of that location. How did you lose her?" Another long bout of listening, then finally Dean shook his head, his hands shaking. "I'll. Call you. Back," he said in a strangled voice and snapped the small phone shut furiously.

Swerving the old car to the side of the crumbling two lane desert road, the eldest Winchester threw the transmission into park and killed the engine. Without looking at Sam, he whispered. "She copped wise to him in Vegas and he lost her outside of Mesquite."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"I need….a minute."

Climbing out of the car, Dean strode briskly off the road and out into the bright, hard-packed, brush-filled desert.

Sam stared after him for a moment, then slouched back down into his seat and closed his eyes. His brother was not to be reasoned with in his current mood, and sleep was something a Hunter never passed up—or so their father had taught them.

An unknown time later, Dean startled him awake when he reentered the car. The older man was dusty and disheveled and had gotten enough sun that the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks had sprung into sharp relief. The pair's eyes met briefly before Dean looked away and nodded tightly. "You have anything else?" he asked in a subdued voice.

Stifling a creaking yawn, Sam blinked and strove to wake himself. "Ah…I've been looking at a few weird killings in a small Missouri town. Edgehill, it's called. The local paper says two men were mauled by an animal, then disemboweled. The removed remains are missing."

"Nice."

"Yeah. The weird part is, both men were in their own homes at the time—one in bed and one on his living room couch."

Dean's brows rose. "So what do we suspect?"

Sam shrugged. "Could be anything, I guess. A shapeshifter, maybe? Another werewolf? There's an old Ozark legend about a creature that lives in the caves around that area…who knows."

"Missouri, huh?" Dean sighed, squinting out into the sunlit Nevada scrub. "Just a coincidence that it's so close to Mississippi, right?"

"I reckon so."

"Fine, Sam. Bela was headed East, so I'm willing. Missouri…what is that, three or four states away?" he tossed the Impala's keys to the younger man with a ghost of his usual smile. "You drive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arriving in the small town of Edgehill, Missouri some days later, the Winchester brothers chose a hotel at random—a small family run place called 'The Shangri-La'. Opening the door of their assigned room, the boys were greeted with Koi fish wallpaper, Chinese lantern lighting and numerous small potted bamboo plants. They two men gazed about in open-mouthed astonishment, then exchanged a silent, long suffering look and set about making a temporary home.

"I'll do the local bars," remarked Dean, digging around in his battered duffel bag for a clean shirt.

"I bet you will." Muttered Sam, shaking his head.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, then shrugged. "Alright. I've got my cell; call me in three hours—or sooner, if you luck out."

"I know the drill, Dean."

At the local library three hours later, and buried up to his elbows in back-logged newspapers and relevant books, Sam was jerked out of deep concentration by the burring of his phone. Absently plucking his Blackberry from his jacket pocket, he clicked the answer button. "Yeah,"

"So much for knowing the drill, brother."

The younger Winchester blinked and glanced guiltily at the wall clock. "Shit. Sorry."

Dean laughed merrily at this lapse in protocol, and Sam actually drew the phone back to stare at it momentarily. "Dean, are you drunk?"

"No, I am not." The older man replied amiably, the faint sounds of bar noise in the background of his location. "I'm at the local watering hole, a place called 'Boggy Bayou'. Why don't you come over? I've got someone I want you to meet."

Sam sat up straighter. "You've already got a lead?"

"No. Just someone I want you to meet."

"Someone you want…Dean? You sure you're not drunk?"

"C'mon, little brother," Dean laughed again. "Just move it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The 'Boggy Bayou' was a tiny little hole in the wall just on the outskirts of the city's shabby little downtown area. Walking into the dimly lit bar, Sam noted the odd, low slung tables and chairs and felt every inch of his six foot four inch height as he stood conspicuously near the door and strove to find his brother amongst the chattering patrons.

"Sammy!"

Turning his head, Sam spied Dean at the end of the bar, a willowy looking woman with clouds of dark hair at his elbow. "Typical," sighed the younger man. Approaching his brother, however, Sam's steps faltered very slightly; there was something strange about his brother's appearance-if he did not know better, he might say his brother looked…happy.

"Sammy," called Dean, clapping the other man's shoulder. "I'd like for you to meet Theodora Booker. Theo, this is my baby brother Sam."

The dark haired woman extended a hand and met Sam's curious gaze with huge dark blue eyes and an engaging smile. "Nice to meet you, Sam. Your brother's been telling me some of your adventures."

"Is that right?" Sam asked uneasily, wondering what off the wall story his brother had come up with this time.

"Well…" She glanced at Dean, who was smiling and gazing at her with open adoration. "Most recently, of course," she said, pitching her throaty voice a tad lower. "The…werewolf incident in Vancouver. Very exciting."

Sam Winchester felt his jaw drop open.

"And I was fascinated by the whole 'Shapeshifter' thing," Booker continued. "I mean, that's amazing." She grinned winsomely at Sam, then glanced at Dean, offering him an adoring look of her own. "Interesting job you guys have."

"Job?" stuttered Sam, flabbergasted.

"Well, yeah," She nodded enthusiastically. "The Hunter thing, you know? So cool."

Sam frowned, his head spinning. "And you…believe him?"

Booker shrugged. "Why not? 'There are stranger things in Heaven and Earth' and all that."

Sam stared at her, then swung his gaze to his brother. "Dean? A word?"

The older man grinned cheerfully and whispered something to Theo Booker that made her laugh softly. "Sure, Sammy." He rose easily and followed the stiff back of his brother to a darker corner of the bar.

Turning furiously on his brother, Sam hissed. "Are you fucking insane? What the hell are you doing?"

"What?" asked Dean innocently, moss-green eyes round. "What's the big deal?"

"You told her? A complete stranger? Dean-what the hell?"

The older Winchester rolled broad shoulders and made a moue. "So? It's no big deal."

"No," growled Sam, caught between rage and astonishment. "It's only the biggest secret we keep. A _family _secret." His shock was so extreme that he felt himself detach from the situation. Blinking slowly, his hazel eyes studied the other man anew, noting Dean's high color and sparkling gaze. "Dean, you've been dosed with something."

"Ah, don't be a killjoy, Sammy, if you don't want to hang out, then don't." Dean replied, more carefree than Sam had ever seen him. "As for me, I'm fine. I'm happy, dude. I've met a nice girl. Leave me alone." He dropped his brother a broad, salacious wink. "And I'm feeling lucky, too, so don't wait up."

~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~

Dean Winchester could not have said what first drew him to Theodora Booker, but ever since first laying eyes on her at the bar, his mind had been a blur. He hardly knew what he said, as long as she kept looking at him with those blue eyes—as deep and dark as a forest pool. His brother had come and gone, seemingly angry with him, he knew that. But once Theo suggested the short trip back to her place, nothing else seemed even vaguely relevant.

She kissed him in the Impala, her mouth hot and demanding against his own, and he remembered literally nothing about how he got to her apartment or inside it. His desire for her—to possess her—was almost debilitating in its intensity, a passion he had never known. Their clothes seemed to fall away, her skin was electric under his hands, and when he thrust himself inside her up against the living room wall, it was the single most satisfying moment of his life.

Moments later, she screamed, her nails digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, her body convulsing against him, and Dean followed her with a hoarse cry of his own. The pair slumped and fell onto the nearby couch, clutching each other and breathing heavily.

After a time, they rose, making their way into Booker's bedroom at last. Their second time was slower, more leisurely. Dean explored every inch of her with his hands and mouth and tongue until she begged him for release. By the time their third coupling was complete, pale morning sunlight was seeping into the bedroom.

"Sleep," Theo Booker whispered, stroking a fingertip across his full, sensual lips. "Sleep, Dean." She watched the wide green eyes close slowly, and let her fingertip slide up to trace the faint freckles across the bridge of his nose, then slid her whole hand into his short chocolate-colored hair. "Dean…"

He murmured her name, then sighed, his body relaxing into the boneless sleep of utter physical satiation.

"Oh, well done," croaked a hollow voice from the foot of the bed.

Theo Booker jerked around, wide-eyed and afraid, to see a tall, inhumanly thin hooded figure gazing at her. Her lips skinned back from her teeth and she unconsciously placed herself between the creature and Dean Winchester. "You bastard," she breathed hoarsely.

"You have outdone yourself, Theodora," remarked the creature. "I cast the spell and only asked you to play into it; I had no idea you were such a talented performer." Its smile resembled a rictus. "I believe you have accomplished a thing I had thought impossible—you have made that Winchester boy fall in love with you. Honestly, I did not know he even had a heart."

"You told me he was a…bad man," she sobbed furiously.

"Oh, but he is a bad man," crooned the creature. "To the likes of me, he is a very bad man, indeed."

Theo Booker glared through her tears. "I should have known you were a liar."

The thing bowed its head briefly. "Yes. You should have." Straightening, it lifted an unnervingly skeletal arm to point at her. "Now do your task and see that he stays here with you when the other one leaves…and your beloved baby sister shall be returned to you. Alive…and sane."

Gathering herself, Booker shot a dark look at the figure. "Your word is given three times. You cannot refuse."

With another hollow laugh, the creature nodded. "I know the rules, little witch, do not think to teach me. Our deal is struck." It moved around the bed, making as though to lean over Dean Winchester but Booker interposed her body between them. Dean shifted in his sleep and both the woman and the creature froze, waiting as he resettled himself.

"You will not touch him," Theo whispered savagely.

The thing's laugh this time was softer but no less bloodcurdling . "I only wanted to look more closely at one of the ones who are so feared on my side of the plane…he does not look like much." It moved away to the foot of the bed again.

"If I help you separate them like this…will you hurt him?"

"Do not say 'if'. And do not trouble yourself beyond your sister's return, young one," replied the creature. "See that he stays with you when the other one goes. That is all." It stepped backward and its shape twisted oddly, stretching and thinning in a long straight line until it disappeared with a faint popping sound.

Theo Booker dropped back on the bed, covering Dean Winchester's inert form with a protective arm and hiding her tear-streaked face against his bare shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Dean," she whispered softly. "I am so very sorry."


	3. Chapter 3

It was a day and a half later when Dean Winchester's small silver cell phone rang again, and he paused in his slow stroking of Theodora Booker's bare back to glare at it. The pair had not left Theo's bedroom in more than thirty six hours—except to shower or eat—and several of those occasions had devolved into love making sessions, as well.

"Hard-headed son of a bitch," he growled.

She made a sleepy sound of query, having mentally numbered the phone's unanswered call count at fourteen. "Who's that, baby?"

"My brother, I'm guessing."

Booker only barely kept herself from tensing, though his reply was far from unexpected; instead, she reached lazily over to slide a hand suggestively across Dean's broad chest, one long leg slipping over his thigh as the phone continued to ring, privately wondering if they were approaching some sort of world record. "Mmmm," she purred. "Leave it…don't move."

But Dean sighed again and curled up from the waist like an athlete, reaching for the cell despite her quiet protests. "You don't understand, honey, he won't give up," he said flatly and flicked the cell phone open. "Sammy. Can I help you?"

Theo watched his handsome face darken in anger. "So what?" he barked into the phone. "It's none of your damn business is it, Sam?" She tried to hold him, but he lurched naked from the bed to pace the room as he listened. "No," he continued at last. "No. I don't. Mississippi is a waste of time, Sammy. Everything is a waste of time; I see that now. I don't want to do it anymore. Go on without me, okay? Let me use what I have left the way I want to."

Winchester glanced at her, and Theo quailed at the strangely desperate love shining from his face. A soft sob escaped her, but Dean did not notice, intent on his conversation. "When?" he snapped, picking his watch up from the dresser top and glaring at its face. "Fine. Yeah. I'll be there, brother."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam Winchester ground his teeth anxiously, waiting with ill-disguised impatience for his brother's appearance. The 'Boggy Bayou's' regular patronage cast him curious looks as he stood fidgeting nervously at the head of the bar. The idea of simply physically attacking his brother and bundling him into the Impala had crossed his mind—but he was uncertain whether or not he could take the older man in single combat. John Winchester had trained his boys well, and neither of them were men to be trifled with.

Bearing Ruby's warning in mind, and having spent the last day or more on his computer and researching at the local library, Sam felt he had a fair idea of what he was dealing with…his problem was how to deal with it without his brother's help. He had left three messages with Bobby Singer, their old family friend and fellow Hunter, but all had been unanswered—a worrying development in itself.

Finally, the main door jerked open and Dean Winchester prowled into the bar with his usual predatory grace. Sam's heart rose, then dropped as he saw Theodora Booker trailing in his brother's wake. The elder Winchester made straight for the younger, his face set. "Sammy," Dean greeted him warily and took a barstool. "You remember Theo. You said you wanted to talk."

Sitting next to him, Sam stared deep into Dean's eyes and nodded. "And I said alone."

The older man shrugged, looking away. "This'll have to do." He glanced at Theo, who shook her head minutely, looking extremely uncomfortable, then gestured to the bar keep. "Two beers."

The three sat tensely until the beers came, the brothers both taking long pulls when the brew arrived. They sat in silence, not looking at one another, until both beers were nearly empty. "Another round," called Dean, the set of his shoulders more relaxed, his eyes softening. Finally, he tipped his fresh beer toward Sam and offered the other man a half smile. "Speak your piece, Sammy."

Drawing a deep breath, Sam threw the dice. "I think we need to leave town, Dean. Now. Today. Together. I think those killings that caught my eye were only a bait to draw us here. Ruby warned me of a plan to separate us, and I think this is it. I think you're…not yourself, and something has affected your judgment…" His eyes flicked to Theo Booker's face, catching an odd look of fear in her expression. "And I think Theo has something to do with all of this."

Dean Winchester had gone still, his gaze hooded. Both anger and danger seemed to radiate off him in waves. "You'd use that demon bitch's words against this woman, Sam?"

Sam swallowed hard, looked over his brother's head and met Theo Booker's frightened eyes squarely. "I think you've met a succubus, Dean, and you're under its spell." He heard someone gasp, but ignored it to scrape his stool back as he stood suddenly. Extending his arm, he showed Theo Booker his open palm and began to clearly recite the Angelic Salutation in a booming voice. "Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the-"

Then Dean was up and had shoved him brutally hard in the center of the chest, sending Sam staggering backward. "You just can't stand it, can you, Sammy?" The older man yelled angrily. "You can't stand that I finally have what I want—that I want to stop all this bullshit and enjoy my last few months."

"Dean," Sam coughed, trying to get his breath back. "Dean, you don't even know this woman. Please listen."

Other patrons moved hurriedly out of the way of the altercation as Dean backed away from his brother, shaking his head. "No—you're just jealous. I don't want to go with you, and you're jealous." Turning back to the bar, he fished his wallet out of his jeans and threw a few bills down. "I'm done, Sam. That's all."

Desperately, Sam Winchester lunged forward to grab Theo Booker by the arms. He shook her, his eyes searching her terrified face with heartbreaking intensity. "Is this what you want?" he demanded. "Is this what you want for him? They'll kill him without me around, Theo. If you care about him at all, help me."

The next thing he knew, Sam was up against the grimy bar wall, Dean's forearm digging fiercely up under his chin, his breath cut off and only the toes of his boots touching the floor. Dean's face—almost unrecognizable in its dead-eyed rage—was inches from his own. "Don't you fucking touch her." The older man snarled thickly.

He held Sam until the younger man clawed at his arm, his eyelids fluttering as he flirted with unconsciousness. A few people in the bar called out for him to stop and the bar man screamed something about the police, but it wasn't until Theo Booker called him softly that Dean Winchester finally released his brother. Sam fell to the dirty floor in a heap, gasping, his hands twitching and grasping at his throat. Looking down at him with an expression of glacial hatred, Dean threw his cell phone to the floor at the other man's feet, where it shattered. "It's over, Sam. All of it."

Walking out of the bar, her hand in Dean's, Theo Booker looked back at Sam. Their eyes met again and he saw the bitter regret in hers as clearly as she saw the wounded sorrow in his.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Theodora Booker's apartment building was old, from a Pre-War era when things were built on a more gracious scale. Only two stories tall, the building curled in a lazy S shape along the ridge of a hill, and backed close to a dense greenbelt of untouched Ozark forest. The rooms in all thirty two of the building's units were large and spacious, and each and every apartment had a small, walled garden in the back.

Dean Winchester sprawled on a rickety lawn chair in Theo's garden amidst the dark green leaves and fading flowers of the waning spring foliage. The late afternoon sunlight made warm caramel highlights in the deep brown of his hair and turned the long sweep of eyelashes over his closed lids into striking curls of vivid gold. He wore ancient, faded jeans and a tattered old REO Speedwagon t-shirt. His bare feet tapped in the thick grass in slow time to the old Peter Tosh record audible through the open sliding glass door.

Relaxed and near to dozing, he was unaware of Theo Booker's scrutiny.

Heavy black hair twisted up behind her neck, Theo leaned on the open windowsill of the kitchen, a pot of homemade spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove behind her, watching Dean Winchester and thinking hard. Her deep blue eyes were distant and sad.

In the week since Dean's words with his brother, she had experienced more pleasure and more joy with him than she had ever thought possible in this world. Quick of wit, he made her laugh; clever and irreverent, he made her think; loquacious and sincere, he could talk or listen with undivided attention—but above all, he was passionate; ardent and insatiable. The spell cast by the creature was on him alone, and Theo had never expected to feel the things she did. She could not help but wonder how much of his behavior was generated because of her; and how much the effect of the attraction weaving—a glamour woven specifically for Dean—surrounding her. It was a question she knew she should not entertain, but one that plagued her every waking moment, nevertheless.

It occurred to her for the hundredth time in the last six days that life with Dean Winchester was a thing very much worth fighting for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Across town, Sam Winchester sat immobile at the tiny table in his room at 'The Shangri-La'. For days he had brooded, turning options over in his keenly intelligent mind and plotting endlessly.

The final result of his thinking had led him to pack his bags, including the duffel Dean had left, and set them ready to go by the room's door.

All of Sam's life—from his earliest memories—he had felt the strength of Dean's fierce protection at his back or by his side like an invisible, impenetrable shield. Sometimes unwanted, often irritating, it was nevertheless a thing he had come to rely on as surely as the sunrise. The sudden absence of his brother's steady guardianship was a cruel blow, and one that left Sam feeling curiously less, somehow.

With their father gone for days or even weeks at a time on Hunting trips through the course of their childhood, Dean had been the constant; the responsible one, the rock. John Winchester had passed his orders to his oldest son, sparing his youngest both the burden and the trouble, and those orders were unfailingly carried out despite any difficulty, often through dint of Dean's determination and sheer stubbornness. The older boy had dedicated his life to the safeguarding of his younger brother, and given up most of his own childhood in the process. He had never enjoyed a life outside of Hunting. He had never stopped working long enough to meet a woman or make a home.

And Sam found that he could not fight the notion that Dean was right; with only a few months time left before his bargain with the Crossroads Demon came due, did he not deserve some peace and happiness?

Dropping his head onto his crossed forearms, Sam felt a hitch in his chest as he struggled to accept his decision.

Sudden heavy pounding on his door sent him over backward in his chair in surprise. Leaping rapidly back to his feet, Sam crouched and drew his gun as the pounding came again. "Who's there?"

"Open up, Sam!" called a familiar voice.

"Bobby!"

The man who stalked into the room was short and broad with a bull's neck and a cattleman's steely, appraising eye. Bobby Singer had been John Winchester's oldest friend and fellow Hunter, and had known Sam and Dean since they were children. Gruff and wily, he was nonetheless a man of calm patience and sometimes startling kindness. "Sam, boy," he said in his deep voice and wrapped the young man in a crushing bear hug. "It's good to see you."

Sam Winchester felt the sting of tears behind his eyes as he returned Singer's embrace. "Same here, Bobby." Drawing back, he looked the older man clearly for the first time, his expression turning worried. "What the hell happened?"

Singer grinned through his full beard and bloody lip. Traces of what appeared to be soot coated the entire right side of his body, from boots to beat-up trucker hat, and a suspicious looking dark russet stain spread across the opposite shoulder. "Little run-in with a few friends of yours, son."

"Demons?" Gasped Sam.

"Yep." Singer dropped tiredly onto the bed. "Two of 'em at the farmhouse. Man, that was something." He quirked a shaggy brow at the younger man. "Took a bit of doing to get out, but I got your messages and here I am."

Sam righted his overturned chair and sat slowly. "It's not a coincidence that they came for you now, is it?"

Singer frowned and rubbed at the back of his neck. "It don't look that way, Sam." His pale blue eyes found the younger man's hazel ones. "Now tell me about Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

They had dinner on the patio on an old cast-iron table and chairs, awash in the long golden rays of the dying sun-spaghetti and salad and most of a bottle of good red wine.

Theo Booker watched her dinner companion like a woman who could eat with her eyes. His soft murmurs of pleasure at the taste of her food, and the pursing of his full mouth to sip the wine—were almost more than she could bear. He had barely laid his fork on the plate for the last time when Theo was around the table and in his lap, nuzzling greedily at the soft skin on the side of his throat.

Dean Winchester made no protest, only tipping his head back enough to allow her better access and pulling her closer in the circle of his arms. In moments, Theo had him gasping softly, his broad, capable hands curling into fists in her clothing. "Theodora," he called softly, and she shivered against him.

"Take me upstairs, Dean," she replied breathlessly. "I want you in my bed."

Effortlessly, he rose with her clutched protectively to his chest. "As my lady commands," he whispered, a hint of smile in his voice.

In the bedroom, Theo stripped him slowly, paused to admire the hard, muscled body, then forced him down on the bed. "Easy, tiger," he murmured teasingly as she straddled his slim hips.

"Quiet," she replied. "Let me do this my way."

His back arched slightly as she lapped at his nipples, her hands roving his naked body. "Who am I to argue?" he managed. "Your way is good."

Smiling, Theo worked him over from head to toe, cherishing his every moan and sigh of pleasure. Their lovemaking had been so frequent that she knew his body well, despite their short acquaintance, and she used her knowledge to its best advantage. Several times he tried to take over, but she fought him gently; the feeling of dominating such a powerful, competent man was its own kind of aphrodisiac. Fully clothed herself, she toyed with him for a very long time, teasing and stroking until Winchester lay writhing and breathless beneath her.

Finally she left him to strip off her clothes as he watched, his eyes heavy and hooded. When at last she rejoined him on the bed, he would not be stopped. Rolling himself atop her, he entered her slowly, meaning to make her suffer his same pains of desire—but her near-sob of ecstasy erased any further plans from his mind. Fingers entwined, the pair forgot all other games and made dreamy, languorous love as the very last of the dusky sunlight fled the room and the evening sound of cicadas started in the trees.

She cried his name over and over again when she came, and he hers. And at last, spent, they settled into the bed in a comfortable tangle of limbs. For a while, they talked softly, giggling and playing like children. But finally, Theo's slow stroking of Dean Winchester's arms and shoulders tipped him into sleep.

Pushing herself up on one elbow, she gazed long at his face, boyish and vulnerable in slumber. "I love you, Dean," she said in a low, fierce voice. Disentangling herself from him carefully, she slung an afghan around her shoulders and crept downstairs, closing the door behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby Singer set down the last bottle of beer. He and Sam Winchester had walked the half block to the nearest package store and picked up a cold six-pack hours earlier; they had been sitting on the end of one of the hotel room's beds, sipping beer ever since. Sam had talked while Singer listened—a skill the older man had long ago mastered—and finally the tale was done.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, Bobby pursed his lips and regarded the other man seriously. "So, you think maybe this is best for your brother, is that the upshot?"

Elbows on his knees, Sam buried both hands in his hair. "If I could make some kind of deal that would spare his life after I go…then…maybe, yeah."

Singer nodded, noncommittal. "Uh huh."

"Well, why not?" demanded Sam with sudden fury. "Why can't Dean have this, Bobby? You know damn well how we grew up. Doesn't he deserve it?"

"Deserve what?" Asked Singer mildly. "To be hoodwinked by a demon? Or to have the last few months of his life become a long dream from which he never wakes up?" The old Hunter pinned Sam with a sharp eye. "Do you really think that's what Dean would want, son?"

Snarling, Sam lurched to his feet. "He won't cooperate; I can't reason with him." He paced a small, furious circle on the bright red carpet. "Christ, I can't reason with him when he isn't under some damn spell, and this kind of exorcism needs the cooperation of the victim, or he could die."

"So what, then?" Sam asked desperately. "If I can't break the spell, maybe I can at least fix it so he'll be happy here under the spell."

"Would you want that, if you were him?"

"No."

Singer sighed. "We could kill the girl."

Sam shook his head. "He'll fight to protect her; I don't want to risk hurting him. The demons coming after you at the same time—this whole thing is a plan, just like Ruby warned me. They've thought of everything."

"There's got to be a way."

"I can't see it," Grated Sam, his voice rising. "Don't you think that if I knew how—"

The clear ringing of the room's desk phone cut his voice off like a knife. The two men exchanged a long glance. "Who else knows you're here?" asked Bobby.

Sam frowned. "No one. Maybe it's Dean." He rushed to the phone and plucked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Sam, is that you?"

"Yes, who—"

"This is Theodora Booker."

Sam Winchester sank onto the bed, his face slack with amazement. "What?—"

"Listen up, okay?" she said. "I only have a few minutes. The spell I cast to make this conversation completely private isn't one I can hold up for long." He heard her drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't know what I was getting into. I'm a practitioner, and one night I was playing around, and—well, something came through the door I opened, Sam. I don't know exactly what—"

"It's a succubus, isn't it?" He interrupted.

"Yes." She replied evenly. "Incubus, succubus, it can be either. When it came to me that night, I was helpless. I couldn't repel it and it…spent a day or more with me—I lost track of the time. But when I finally got myself back together—my little sister was gone."

"It has her."

He sensed her silent nod. "Our mother died of cancer when we were just girls. My father was a policeman, he worked long hours and wasn't home much. He died two years ago on a routine traffic stop—shot to death by a man with a couple of joints in his car. Danielle is all I have, Sam, I practically raised her. I would have done anything to save her."

Sam pressed his lips together. "I understand, Theo. Believe me, I do."

"I was only supposed to hold him here until you'd gone, Sam." She said. "I didn't realize…I didn't know…" He heard her huff out a breath, composing herself. "He's a good man, your brother. He deserves better than this…better than me."

"Theo, don't—"

"I want to help you, but I need a promise in return."

"Name it."

"My sister for your brother, Sam." She whispered, her voice breaking. "Promise me that you'll see her safe from all this mess, and I'll help you get your brother back."

"Done, Theo. I promise it will be done."

She sighed like a weight had been lifted. "Okay. Okay, then. I have an idea…"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean came awake fully alert, as he usually did, and Theo Booker resisted the instinctive impulse to shy away from the aggressive look of readiness on his handsome features in the silvery moonlight. Instead, she stroked his bare bicep soothingly from where she sat on the edge of the bed . "Easy, Dean."

"What's going on?" he asked in a low voice, sitting up.

"I've got a surprise for you, baby," Theo said brightly.

Winchester glanced at the softly glowing digital clock behind him. "Theodora. It's four o'clock in the morning."

"Yes," She replied blithely. "Now get dressed, we have to go downstairs."

With a shrug, he complied, and Theo loved him the fiercer for it. After slipping back into his jeans and t-shirt, he offered her a peculiar expression that was half-yawn, half-smile. "Ready."

"Downstairs," she repeated, tugging at his hand. Maneuvering herself to be positioned behind him, she followed him down the dark stairwell. "In the living room, Dean."

As they entered the dimness of the apartment's living room, Dean Winchester's steps slowed. "Theo, what the hell is going on?"

"You'll see," she said with forced good cheer, and, reaching up behind him, she sapped him solidly and efficiently on the back of the head. Dean went down hard and soundlessly into a loose pile of limbs as Theo skipped backward, her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Good job, girl," remarked Bobby Singer, coming in from the kitchen. "You done this before?"

Recovering herself, Theo Booker bounced the small, heavy little blackjack nervously on her palm and shot Singer a sour look. "My dad was a cop. I've seen it done."

"Huh," said the older man neutrally, then moved quickly to kneel beside the eldest Winchester. "Light," he commanded, and Theo clicked on the lamp. She watched as Singer skinned back Dean's eyelid, seeing a thin crescent of white. "Out cold," he said in satisfaction. "Thank God. This boy scares hell out of me when he's riled."

"Where's Sam?" Theo asked, biting her lip as the older man wrestled Dean's inert form into her father's battered old armchair.

"He'll be along," said Singer absently, setting to work with several generous lengths of rope. "He had some shopping to do, that's all."

"Shopping?" repeated Theo incredulously, her voice starting to shake. "I'm about to call this thing into my living room! Jesus Christ, you people are blasé about this."

Singer paused in lashing Dean's arm to the chair, his faded blue eyes spearing her with pointed seriousness. "This is what we do, girl. It's what these two boys were trained to do, and have done, ever since they were kids. You might say it's the family business." He turned back to the job at hand and said in a quieter voice. "I'm damn sorry you got mixed up in it; you shouldn't play with things like this."

Theo's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline and her mouth thinned. "Wow. Thanks for the tip, Mr. Singer."

"I'm just sayin'," he continued. "You open the door, you never know what might walk in…and decide to stay."

"Well, that's one lesson I learned a little too late, I'm afraid."

Cinching the last knot around Dean Winchester's chest, Singer rose. "You sure you're up for this, Miss Booker? It ain't gonna be pretty."

Theo nodded, holding his gaze. "I made this mess, Mr. Singer. I mean to see it cleaned up."

"Good." The older man cut his eyes at Dean, then back to her. "Don't you mind anything he might say in the heat of the moment. Dean's got a black temper, as you may know, but a good heart. It'll all be cleared up 'fore we're through."

She nodded wordlessly, then tipped her head at him. "You love them both."

"Like my own sons," he replied matter-of-factly. "Let's get ready to do this thing."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam Winchester finally arrived at the apartment carrying a bulging, dusty knapsack. When Bobby Singer opened the door to his soft knock, and he entered the apartment like a cold wind. Dropping the bag when he saw Dean, he rushed to his brother's side, one hand wavering near the other man's cheek. "He's okay?" he asked Bobby in a scratched voice.

"He's alright, Sam. Lord knows we want him out for as long as possible. Let him be for now."

Straightening, Sam's gaze fell on the small alter Theo had prepared in the middle of the carpet—red candles, fresh incense, cut fruit and intricate symbols drawn on scattered bits of worn leather. When he raised his eyes, he found Theodora Booker watching him intently.

"I'm ready," she breathed.

Sam took several long steps and wrapped her in a warm embrace. "Theo," he rumbled, kissing the top of her head lightly. "Thank you for this."

She was rigid in his arms for a long moment, then her entire body went pliant, melting against him with a stifled sob. After some time, she drew back from him with a small smile, unshed tears glittering in her huge blue eyes. "No wonder he loves you so much."

A flicker of dimple showed as Sam stepped away and reached in his pack. Pulling out a can of black spray paint, he shook the can vigorously and began to work. Two minutes later, when he approached Theo again, his warm hazel gaze was steady. "You ready?"

She nodded and both men moved quickly away to stand in flanking positions by Dean's chair.

Kneeling before her altar, Theodora Booker began to chant softly in Latin. After awhile, she reached out, picking up a small silver knife from her altar and slicing cleanly and unhesitatingly into the soft skin of her forearm. She caught the blood in a tiny clay bowl even as her chanting grew louder and more insistent. A tension grew in the air and they all felt pressure against their eardrums, like they were in an airliner that was taking off.

"Get ready," Bobby whispered grimly.

A point of dark light appeared in mid-air, stretching and elongating until it suddenly twisted in a way that hurt the eyes. A hooded figure stood there, it's head turning from side to side, taking in the situation. "What is this?" iIt creaked in a cold voice. "Treachery?"

Theodora Booker rose swiftly to her feet, her petite form looking even smaller as she faced the tall creature across the small altar. Her dark blue eyes were bright and hectic, her spine steel straight. "Let me see her, you piece of filth." she said in an odd, velvety voice. "Let me see her right now."

Bobby Singer leaned down and slapped Dean Winchester smartly across the cheek. "Wake up, boy!" hHe growled. "Wake up!"

Dean groaned, rolling his head from side to side, his eyelids fluttering.

"How dare you, foolish child," grated the thing with dark malice. "You dare to summon me?" It took a shuffling step toward Theo, who did not move. "And you dare to make demands?"

Sam slid gracefully forward, a battered leather-bound journal open in his hands. "We do," he said, drawing the creature's attention away from the furious woman. "We do dare. Look down."

The thing's hood dipped, seeing the complicated pattern Sam had spray painted on the carpet inside of which it stood. It hissed, a noise like nails on a chalkboard. "What is this?"

"It's a devil's trap, you bastard." Grated Sam. "And if you have any desire to survive, you'll do as we say. Show us the girl."

"Sam?" Dean's voice, muzzy and confused. "Sam. What's happening?"

Ignoring him, Sam moved closer to Theo, presenting a united front. "Do it. Now."

But the thing merely stood, frozen and menacing. Sam shrugged and glanced down at his father's journal. "Suit yourself," he said almost genially, then began to read loudly from the book, booming the archaic Latin phrases with practiced sureness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first, Dean Winchester believed himself to be in the middle of a nightmare.

He saw Theo-her long black hair in a wild corona around her pale face—and his baby brother shoulder to shoulder and facing…something. A freakishly tall, skeletal thing in faded black robes.

"Dean, I need you to listen to me."

Wild-eyed, Dean Winchester looked up into a face he knew as well as family. "Bobby," he said blankly, feeling as though his brain were mired in sucking mud. "What? How?"

"Listen to me, kid," said Singer urgently. "You're under a spell. I need you to shake it off."

"Spell."

"Right."

Dean nodded as though this were the simplest concept in the world, wishing desperately that he would wake up. "Okay, sure."

Sam's voice began to thunder out an exorcism and the creature in black yowled as though burned, twitching and hitching inside the trap. Dean watched with detached, professional interest, ignoring Bobby Singer's continued exhortations in his ear. The creature bowed low, it's voice wheedling and Sam paused in the rite. Bowing again, the creature gestured sharply and a slim human girl appeared out of thin air next to it. Theo Booker screamed, and Dean frowned, glancing up at Bobby. "This is the weirdest dream I've ever had, dude."

Singer scowled thoughtfully, then backhanded him sharply, rocking Dean's head to the side and splitting his lip. "Does that feel like a dream, you damn stubborn boy?"

Dean's eyes were wide and shocked. "Bobby," he whispered, then, acceptance dawning, he whipped is head around. "Theodora!"

The creature in black pushed the young girl outside its circle where she staggered blank-eyed into Theo Booker's waiting arms. "Enough, please," the thing groaned, bowing low to Sam yet again. "You have the child."

"Take the hex off my brother," commanded Sam, his rich voice implacable and cold.

Keening pitifully, the creature groveled inside its trap. "They will destroy me if I release him, even if I could." It lifted a thin arm and pointed at Dean. "He does not wish to be released. You have the girl, let me free."

Sam speared his brother with a dark look. "Shake it off, Dean. You've been under this thing's compulsion from the beginning. It used Theodora to get to you—to separate us. Help me break the spell."

Dean met his brother's gaze and his face clouded, his expression going peculiar and vacant. Then suddenly a visible shiver ran up his body and he began to struggle violently against his bonds. The heavy chair rocked and jumped beneath his efforts, the cords on his neck standing out as he roared and cursed in impotent rage.

"You see," the creature said silkily to Sam, a hint of sickly smile showing under its hood. "He does not desire his freedom from the woman. Do not force him or he will die."

"Lift the curse or you're the one who'll die!" Sam threatened grimly, glancing meaningfully at the journal in his hand.

"I cannot!" The creature cowered away from him, any trace of amusement gone. "I cannot release him, I told you—it must be the woman's choice!"

Sam swung around to face Theodora Booker where she huddled on the floor with her strangely silent sister. "Theo," he said, his voice abruptly gentle. "Now is the time. Speak to my brother. End this."

She turned her tear-stained face toward Dean and nodded. "Yes, Sam." Rising slowly, she pulled her sister to her feet and steered her into the curve of Sam Winchester's free arm. "Keep her safe," she said firmly.

"I promise."

Bobby Singer edged away as Theo approached Dean. The oldest Winchester's temper subsided as she knelt before his chair, raising one hand to lay it flat against his heaving chest. "Dean," she whispered. "Stop."

"Theodora," he replied, all of his attention focusing on her face. "Are you alright, baby?"

At his earnest expression—all love, trust and concern—she felt bitter sorrow well up in her chest, threatening to choke her as she struggled to breathe against the vast weight of her regret. "Oh, Dean," she murmured. "Dean, I love you so."

One side of his mouth curled upward, pleased. "I love y—" But Theo's hand flew to his lips, stopping his words.

Ignoring his puzzled look, she stretched upward to kiss him with slow and thorough deliberateness. Sam and Bobby exchanged a glance, but both men remained silent, averting their eyes from the quiet drama unfolding before them.

Drawing reluctantly away from Dean's return kiss, Theo Booker met his hazel eyes with sad determination and drew a deep, steadying breath. "You're under a spell cast by the succubus, Dean. It used me to draw you away from your brother. It held my sister hostage as surety of my cooperation in seducing you. Everything you feel for me is a lie."

Dean Winchester stilled, his half-smile dropping away. "No."

"Yes," she insisted, stroking her fingers lightly across the high curve of his cheekbone. "Yes, it's true. I was a practicing witch, playing with things I shouldn't have been. This…thing found me and used me against you."

He blinked rapidly. "But…I hate witches."

"Break the spell, Dean," she said softly, insistently. "Be who you were meant to be."

Another shiver passed over Dean's body and he dropped his chin to his chest, his knuckles going white as he gripped the chair's armrests. "No," he murmured hoarsely. "No."

"I'm sorry," Theo said, her face calm but for the silent tears streaming down her cheeks. "Forgive me, Dean—it was for my family. For love."

Dean shivered yet again, and a low moan escaped him. "No, no, no, no." He strained against his bonds and the heavy wood frame of the chair creaked alarmingly.

"Dean…" Sam made as though to go to his brother, but Bobby waved him away and shook his head.

"I'll kill you," The eldest Winchester's low, pleasant voice was a rasp as he raised his face to met Theodora's. The incandescent rage in his wide green eyes made Theo snatch her hands from his body as though scorched and scuttle backward across the floor. "A God-forsaken witch," Dean continued savagely, his full mouth twisted with fury. "I'll kill you with my bare hands."

The creature screeched and collapsed on the floor in despair. "He has broken it!" the thing wailed. "By all the Hells, I am doomed!"

Grinning fiercely with both pride and relief, Sam raised the journal and drew a deep breath, intent on finishing the exorcism. But a loud sound-like the tearing of an enormous piece of fabric—sent him leaping away from the trapped succubus. A strange man had appeared in the center of the room. He was slender and fine-boned, and the eyes under the elegantly arched brows were blacker than a moonless night.


	6. Chapter 6

Bobby Singer howled wordlessly, snapping a sawed-off shotgun up and loosing a booming round of rock salt straight into the stranger's chest. The demon rocked back on his heels with a sharply indrawn breath, then spared Singer an annoyed glance. "That stings, old man," he purred in a rough, glacially cold voice. "Don't do it again." Turning his fathomless obsidian gaze toward Theo Booker, the demon frowned delicately. "Stupid, stupid girl. All you had to do was hold your tongue." His frown deepened. "Surely the sex was enough to keep you satisfied? It certainly seemed so from what I witnessed."

Theo Booker only stared at the demon, her mouth ajar, her blue eyes huge and terrified.

Sam Winchester shoved the unresisting Danielle Booker toward the room's back corner and straightened to his full height, his angular jaw jutting aggressively. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The demon bowed almost imperceptibly to Sam. "So," he said in his hoarse voice. "The other Winchester." He regarded Sam thoughtfully for a long moment, then a slight smile flitted over his sharp features. "I knew your father briefly before he escaped from the Pit."

Sam nodded silently, ignoring both the demon's barb and the fact that Bobby Singer had produced a knife and was rapidly cutting Dean loose from his bonds. "Is that right?" The younger man said carefully. "And your name?"

The demon tilted his head like a curious bird, a glossy sheaf of dark hair slipping over one eye. "I am called Naberius. I hold the rank of Marquis and have command of nineteen legions in Hell. I am Cunning. I am Guile."

"That explains a lot," muttered Sam.

With a strangled growl, Dean Winchester struggled to his feet from the tatters of his bonds and staggered to his brother's side. He put a hand on Sam's shoulder, bunching the younger man's jacket in his clutching fingers. "Get out of here," he glared at the demon, his eyes dark, his expression fierce. "Before we take you out the hard way."

Naberius tipped his head to the other side, black eyes rapt and gleaming like a crow's cruel and curious stare. "I am impressed that you broke the spell," He said admiringly to Dean. "It is a thing not often done, in my experience; which is long experience, indeed."

"Fuck off," Dean grated, bringing the sawed-off shotgun to bear as Bobby Singer moved into a covering position on Sam's other side, several flasks of Holy Water in his hands. "It's over."

"I suppose you are right," sighed Naberius ruefully. "I have very specific orders; we have reached the end game in this particular battle. There are just a few loose ends to tie up."

Turning with preternatural, liquid speed, he stretched a hand toward the succubus, which had been cowering still and quiet in its trap, hoping to avoid notice. "You have failed me," the demon said, his tone frozen and implacable. "You pay the penalty." With a flick of the demon's wrist, the creature began to writhe and squeal in pain, smoke rising from its robes. The humans in the room coughed and fought the urge to gag at the stench, grateful when at last licks of cold blue flame appeared to gobble the succubus into nothingness.

"Swell. Thanks." Dean said flatly when it was over. "Now drift."

Naberius cawed a harsh laugh and clapped his hands with delight. "It is as they say! You humans fight with words as well as deeds."

"Cute, aren't we?" Dean smiled thinly, the shotgun making its distinctive double click as he cocked it, leveling it at the demon's chest. "Now get lost."

The black eyes sparkled almost merrily and Naberius nodded, holding his hands up placatingly. "As you wish," he said. "One more thing before I go." With the same uncanny speed he had shown a moment earlier, Naberius turned sharply toward Theodora. "Your soul is mine, stupid girl," he purred roughly. "You gave it up the night you called a Dark Rite. Come."

Theo rose to her feet at his summons, her body obeying him against her will.

Dean roared in protest and tried to rush forward, but Sam grabbed him roughly, dropping their father's journal in his haste to seize at his brother with both hands.

Naberius quirked an ebony brow at the Winchester brothers as Theo Booker stepped into the waiting circle of his arms. The expression she cast back at Dean was complex; love, sorrow, regret, fear. "Take care of yourself," she whispered brokenly.

"Theodora!" Despite the younger man's efforts, Dean dragged Sam several steps forward with him as he struggled toward the demon. "Let her go, you son of a bitch!"

Bobby Singer leaned forward and cast a vial of Holy Water at Naberius. A low, vicious snarl ripped from the demon's throat as steam rose from his skin and his pleasant, human visage rippled briefly into something misshapen and dark. "Foolish old man," Naberius croaked. "I warned you." He gestured again and Singer crumpled instantly to his knees, retching and choking.

His arms still wrapped around his brother, Sam closed his eyes and began to intone the exorcism ritual from memory, his deep, throaty voice clearly audible even over the din of all that was occurring. Naberius' lips skinned back, showing unnaturally sharp white teeth as he crouched defensively. Pulling Theodora Booker closer to his body, he bowed his slight bow again. "Ai," He hissed. "So be it. The field is yours…for tonight."

Theodora Booker's deep blue eyes held Dean's green ones for the briefest of moments, then suddenly the ripping sound repeated itself—deafeningly loud. Naberius was gone and Theo Booker crumpled limply to the floor.

"NO!" Dean surged forward and Sam let him go, turning his attention to Bobby Singer, who still knelt, his head down as he sucked in great gasps of air.

Dean gathered Theo Booker's lifeless body in his arms, his face ashen. He pushed a few waves of dark hair away from her open, staring eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a small voice. "God, I'm sorry, Theo." He bent over her, pressing his cheek against hers and rocking her in his lap, his broad shoulders bowed.

With Sam's help, Bobby Singer finally regained his feet. New blood ran in slow rivulets down his bearded chin and only Sam's strength kept him upright. "Dean," the older man coughed weakly. "We got to git before that sonofabitch changes its mind."

But Dean only continued rocking Theodora Booker's motionless body, his face hidden, every line of his body a study in anguish. For some minutes, the three men remained in the same positions—Bobby and Sam arm in arm, standing over a silent, grief-stricken Dean.

At last, Sam noticed the still, quiet form of Theodora's sister, Danielle, still standing in the corner where he had pushed her. "Dean," The younger man called softly. "Dean. Theo's sister needs help."

Dean slowly raised his face to stare at his brother, uncomprehending. "Sister?"

Sam nodded, speaking slowly and carefully as though his capable, intelligent brother had become a simple-minded child. "Yeah, Dean. Danielle; the reason Theo did what she did. Danielle is her baby sister. Theo asked me to keep her safe…will you help me?"

The older Winchester blinked slowly, his green eyes regaining focus, his full mouth firming. "Safe," he murmured. "Yes." He bowed his head, placed a final, soft kiss on Theo Booker's cooling lips, then rose smoothly to his feet. His handsome features were set and determined.

"Good boy, Sam," Singer muttered approvingly, watching as Dean gathered himself. "Give him a job; it's what he does best."

"Shut up, Bobby." Sam replied, the truth of the old Hunter's assessment making him feel unaccountably weary.

Dean spent a long moment studying Danielle Booker. The girl had Theo's thick mane of dark hair, but her body was boyishly slim, without Theo's appealing curves. She stared blankly back at Dean, no sign of interest or understanding in the rich, dark brown of her eyes. Dean offered her his best effort at a comforting smile, then effortlessly scooped the unresisting girl into his arms. Glancing back at the others, he nodded simply. "Let's go."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bobby Singer drove, regularly slewing the Impala wildly around corners and cursing under his breath at the old car's loose steering. Dean sat mutely in the huge back seat, Danielle Booker cradled in his lap, staring blankly out at the passing darkness. Sam alternated between staring nervously out the windshield and glancing worriedly back at his uncharacteristically silent brother.

"We need to get out of town," remarked Bobby softly.

"I know," Sam shot back, just as softly.

Singer's eyes flicked up to the rearview momentarily. "And we should split up."

"I know."

"Leave the girl to me," the old Hunter continued. "I know a place where she can stay. If there's anything left in her head, she'll be able to put it back together there."

Sam nodded soberly. "You're sure?"

"Yeah," Singer said, his rough voice haunted. "She's not the first casualty I've handled, Sam."

Pulling into the parking lot of Edgehill's only school—a quaint, slightly run-down red brick building—Singer chunked the Impala into park and swung around to face Dean in the near-darkness. "Son," he said, his voice firm over the low rumbling of the car's engine. "I'm taking that young lady somewhere she can get better. Get her out for me, now."

Obediently, the elder Winchester climbed out and handed Danielle Booker over to Singer's waiting arms without a word. He stood, watching without expression as Singer settled the girl in the passenger seat of his battered old Ford truck and Sam slung the old Hunter's ancient duffel bag into the bed.

Sam and Singer embraced briefly, then Singer approached Dean. Taking the younger man by his arms, Singer's eyes bored into Dean's. "I'm proud of you, son," the old man husked. "You did a brave thing. A hard thing." He wrapped Dean in a quick, fierce hug then met his eyes again. "Remember that your freedom is what she wanted for you. It was her choice to let you go. Don't disappoint her now by quittin', y'hear?"

A pained expression suddenly crossed Dean's handsome features like a cloud passing over the moon. "Bobby," He breathed, heartbroken.

"I know, son." Soothed Singer, offering him another quick embrace. "I know."

Shaking his head, Singer turned and left them, starting his truck and pulling out of the lot without a backward glance. The brothers stared after him, watching as the truck disappeared rapidly down the dark road. In a moment, there was only the two of them, and the cicadas began to whir in the trees once more, their volume slowly increasing in the newly restored stillness.

Tearing his eyes from the dark road, Sam cast a glance at his brother's face. "Dean, we'd better move."

Head down, Dean drifted back to the Impala and slid into the passenger seat. With a resigned sighed, Sam got behind the wheel, dropped the transmission into drive and sped down the narrow country road in the opposite direction that Singer had taken. In minutes they were outside of Edgehill's tiny confines, the rolling hill country with its dense hardwood forests dropping behind them with disconcerting rapidity. An hour later, Sam still clung to the back roads, but the landscape had grown flat, huge tracts of farmed fields broken by small towns and smaller patches of thick scrubland.

Dean—always in control, always in charge, always sure of himself—never asked Sam where they were headed, or why. He merely settled himself against the passenger door, folded his arms over his broad chest and slept.

Sam drove in silence, sparing an occasional glance at his brother, until the cool light of dawn began to creep across the horizon. At last, spying a small gas station and diner warmly lit in the growing light, he pulled over and parked, killing the Impala's engine. Dean stirred and opened his eyes in time to see Sam get out and amble into the little diner.

A few minutes later, the younger man was back with two cups of steaming coffee and a brown bag. In the car, he handed Dean a cup of coffee, then opened the bag, producing a biscuit piled high with scrambled egg and sausage. Dean grunted, took the biscuit and set to with a will. As the other man ate, Sam sipped his coffee, trying vainly to stretch his long legs and ease the pain in his lower back from sitting so long.

When his food was finished, Dean sipped at his cooling coffee, his moss-green eyes distant and weary. "Sam," he said hoarsely. "I'm sorry."

Sam frowned and shook his head thoughtfully. "Don't be, Dean. I only wish it could've…worked out for you, somehow."

"It was a spell. And I helped it." Dean's voice was taut, his body rigid with sudden tension. "There's no excuse."

Sam's frown grew into a scowl. "Godammit, Dean," he snapped impatiently. "Don't you think I know what you gave up for this life? To help Dad? To protect me?"

"No more than you did," replied Dean quietly, casting his gaze down at the Styrofoam cup in his large, competent hands.

Sam drew a long, careful breath, remembering the woman called Jess and his almost-life at Stanford with the same old, familiar pain. "Yeah," he said after a moment. "But at least I had a taste of that life…it's more than you ever had, Dean."

The older man shrugged. "Maybe, Sammy. But I'm still sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Dean. Don't say it again."

"I was ready to leave you."

Sam shrugged, smiling slightly. "She was worth leaving for, Dean."

"She was a witch, Sam."

"She fell in love with you, Dean."

Silenced, Dean slouched back in his seat and the pair finished their coffees in companionable quiet. They watched the sun creep up in the east, its ascendance banishing the indigo of the night sky with pale rose and gold rays of light.

"But I don't know how much of what I felt was me and her, and how much was the hex." Dean murmured after a while.

Sam squinted his eyes against the growing daylight. "The two of you cared about each other; does it really matter which was which?"

"No," Dean replied slowly, his expression pensive. "No, I guess not."

"Good." Abruptly starting the Impala's engine into rumbling life, Sam rolled the big car back onto the road. "Besides, I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of that…thing back there. Maybe you'll get a chance to talk it over with him in person before we're through."

Dean Winchester's green eyes glittered dangerously and a predatory smile flickered briefly across his lips. "Maybe you're right, Sammy," he mused. "I'll look forward to it." He gazed out at the passing countryside. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Mississippi."

Dean whipped his head around and studied his brother's resolute profile for a long moment. "You're not going to give up on this are you?" he asked almost gently.

"No," Sam shot back flatly. "Never."

Dean's full mouth curved briefly upward on one side. "Alright, Sammy. You win. Let's go to Mississippi."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~xxx~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A dirty, cream-colored stray dog wandered across the pavement as the Impala pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, roaring away into the new morning. The dog shuffled around the area where the car had been, searching the ground hopefully for food. A cool wind wafted over the stray and its head snapped alertly up, scenting. Suddenly the animal cringed, its ears laying flat against its skull, its tail tucked instinctively under its belly.

"Here, boy," the tall, slender man standing in the shadows on the side of the diner called in a voice like sliding gravel. His ebony eyes were the flat black blankness of a doll's eyes. "Here, pup."

With a sound that was half growl, half whine, the stray backed rapidly away, its eyes wild and fearful.

The tall man gestured idly—a lazy wave of his hand—and the dog froze. It straightened with a hoarse, coughing bark, then fell over dead.

The man's narrow features flickered, a feral grin full of sharp teeth spreading across his face as his jet-black hair stirred in the cool morning breeze. "Soon," he crooned to the empty air. "Soon."


End file.
